Who's in Trouble Now?
by Spense
Summary: Following the events of the movie, Alan finds out some less than desired information, courtsey of his brothers. COMPLETE
1. Default Chapter

Who's in Trouble Now?

By Spense

"But dammit, he's always screwing up . . !"

"Tut, tut, language Virgil," Scott Tracy commented lightly as he followed his complaining younger brother into the study. "But, I've got to admit, I know what you mean . . ."

"Come on, Scott, it's worse than that, and you know it." Gordon bumped into Scott from behind as Scott slowed by the windows and looked out at the sunset.

"Look where you're going Gordo!" Scott complained mildly, as he turned around to look at his younger brother.

Gordon was fussing with his small, compact CD player, that he'd just noticed that Alan had borrowed, and apparently broken, during the recent, eventful Spring break. He looked up in annoyance at Scott's mild tone. "Give it up, Scott. I've heard you often enough cussing Alan out when Dad's not around. He breaks everything and you know it. Don't tell me you wouldn't rather have Mom back instead of their 'mistake'! You know as well as I do that they'd planned to stop at four kids. And Mom died, and we got Alan instead. Five years younger. Poor trade off, if you ask me, and I've heard you grouse about it often enough too! So don't give me the 'look at both sides' talk."

Virgil looked angrily at Scott as well. "Scott, we just finished 10 hours of work on TB2 because of Alan's mishandling. You know why Dad won't let him around them!"

Scott ran his hands through his dark hair, and said resignedly, "Yeah, I know. Part guilt, part wariness."

"Guilt because he feels the same way about Alan that we do, and doesn't want him to get hurt . . ." Virgil kicked in.

"And part wariness because, let's face it, Alan can destroy anything he touches without much effort. Like this!" Gordon held up the damaged CD player for the other two to see.

Scott just signed. They were right. They'd had this conversation often enough. The conversation was cut off as Scott saw movement in the doorway; Jeff Tracy examining some papers while entering the room. Before he could greet his father, Jeff was saying, "Got them right here Alan, I'll e-mail them to you . . ."

Jeff broke off, taking a good look at his youngest son's face in the vidphone facing the door. "Alan, are you alright . . . ? Alan? ALAN!"

Scott felt the blood drain from his face. And as he glanced at his brothers, he saw the same pale look on their faces. He heard a shocked whisper from Virgil at his side, "Alan . . ?" How could they have missed Alan on the vidphone when they walked in? They would have been looking right at him as they crossed to the windows!

Jeff looked up from the screen which had been disconnected at the other end of the transmission and realized that his other son's were in the room. Then he looked at their white faces. "What happened?" He asked sternly. When nobody volunteered, he thundered, 'NOW!"

Scott, Vigil and Gordon all looked at each other. Gordon gulped and looked away. Virgil just shut his eyes in pain. Scott looked back to his father and took a deep breath. How could they have been so stupid! This was not going to be an easy fix. "Dad, we really screwed up."

Fifteen year old Alan Tracy's finger hit the disconnect button on his computer without any conscious prompting from his brain. His dad's face disappeared, and all sound blessedly vanished. Alan, subject of his brother's loud, angry, and just overheard conversation, sat alone in his dorm room in Wharton Academy in absolute shock. His mind whirling he started at the picture of space on his computer screen, his mind refusing to take in what he'd just heard. He just sat, stunned, unable to process the last 5 minutes. A small red light on the screen suddenly started blinking. Knowing beyond a doubt that it was his father trying to reestablish contact, Alan jumped up and stepped backwards, as though the computer would bite him. He couldn't talk to him. He just couldn't.

Alan ignored the light and headed for the door. He about mowed down Fermat who was just coming in with his rush out the door and down the hall.

"Hey Alan," Fermat began, then watched in puzzlement as Alan disappeared down the steps. Fermat frowned, then shook his head and entered the room. Seeing the light on the computer he touched it and saw Jeff Tracy's face come to life, surrounded by Scott, Virgil and Gordon.

"Hi Mr. Tracy," he said cheerfully. Before he could say anything more, Jeff Tracy overrode him.

"Hello Fermat, put Alan on please." Fermat looked in surprise at the older man, and noted the look of worry in his eyes.

"I'm sorry Mr. Tracy, but Alan just left." Fermat's protection of Alan was automatic. Alan had always seemed to be trouble. Today didn't look to be any different.

"Do you know where he went?" Jeff persisted. Fermat frowned internally. This didn't sound good.

"No, Mr. Tracy, I don't know. He was leaving as I was coming in. He didn't say anything."

Jeff Tracy paused for a moment. "Alright, thank you Fermat. Just . . . Just have him call me as soon as you see him again. Tell him it's important."

Fermat watched in consternation as Virgil Tracy gave a short snort at the comment about 'important' and was cuffed on the back of the head by Gordon. This really didn't look good. He answered slowly, "Ok, Mr. Tracy. I will."

"Thank you." Jeff Tracy gave Fermat a strained smile and signed off. Fermat looked at the bland screen for a moment and thought worriedly, 'Geez, Alan, what have you done now?'


	2. Chapter Two Mistake

Who's In Trouble Now?

By Spense

Chapter Two – Mistake

Alan headed for his bolt-hole in the attic of the first dormitory of the historic school. With four older brothers, it was always better to have several places to escape, and Alan had had a lot of practice finding them. Being the youngest by five years, Alan amended to himself. With brothers that really picked on him. Alan started to fume again. Noticing the strange looks he was getting from other students, Alan forced himself to calm down and act normally. This meant pushing the just heard conversation from his mind. Alan did just that, acting like he was going to see an older friend in the first dormitory.

He mounted the steps two at a time, concentrating on not looking out of place with the older students since Dormitory One held the Juniors and Seniors. The thought occurred to him that he had spent more time being around older kids and adults than he did those his own age, TinTin and Fermat not withstanding. Reaching the top floor Alan headed purposefully down the end of the hall, and not seeing anyone, quickly slipped through the door to the maintenance stairs. He hopped up the flight quickly, then entered into the upper storage room of the old building. Ducking around dusty boxes and old furniture, Alan made for the front. Moving to a nondescript ladder and old paint cloths, he ducked under the hanging cloth he fussed with an old doorknob, carefully hidden by the ladder. It gave easily. 'Amazing what a little WD40 will do," he thought to himself and quickly slipped in his hole.

A small round window in the peak of the old Federal Style building, nestled high up in the eves had caught his attention when he first had come to Wharton Academy. He found the tiny room behind what had been walled off into a storage room. Perfect for disappearing. Not even Fermat knew about this one, although he did know about some of the other hiding places.

Fermat. Alan frowned slightly as he settled himself into his tiny hideaway. Fermat had been going into their room. What do you want to bet Fermat answered the call on the computer. 'Shit!' Alan thought to himself, purposefully taking delight in using language he knew his father and older brothers wouldn't tolerate. Man he hated being the bottom of the totem pole. Back to his original train of thought.

Fermat now probably knew everything. Great, just great. Now he was completely humiliated in front of more people. It was getting to be a regular circus. Alan grabbed a Diet Coke from a package he had stored up here. Safer than in the dorm, that was for sure, and settled back to examine what he'd just learned.

He was a mistake. Apparently in all terms and definitions of the word. His brothers had always made it clear that he wasn't as bright, smart, athletic, mechanically inclined and all together worse at any number of things than one or more of the other Tracy'swere. He'd had this pounded into him from as early as he could remember. Irritating to be sure. And he fought against that train of thought all of his life, physically and verbally. He gave as good as he got, he knew that. But being the youngest by so many years, there was just so much you could do. But he had honestly thought that maybe, just maybe, now that he had his IR pin, things would be different. He'd be more of an equal. He'd proven himself. Like his father had said, 'no shortcuts'. But now, the bulk of the teasing in the past was beginning to take on a different tone. A pattern was beginning to emerge. There was a real core, rather than just the typical brother against brother. And something he would obviously never be able to prove himself against. Ever.

He wasn't wanted. Pure and simple. From birth.

Alan set his drink down, and leaned forward to wrap his arms around his legs and rest his chin on his knees. It made so much sense. The edginess of the teasing and the pranks. He'd always thought that it was that way for all of them, but after what he'd just heard . . .

Thinking again about the exact wording of the conversation, Alan was near tears. Scott had always been there for him. He was always the one they all turned to for advice. Scott was always fair – just like John. Not that he couldn't tease and pull pranks, but Scott, was, well, Scott. He'd always gone to Scott when his Dad wasn't around. Scott was also a grown-up. Alan realized suddenly, for the first time, that when he had received his IR pin, he was looking for Scott's approval, just like his Dad's. Hoping the others would follow his lead. Well, today was certainly an eye-opening surprise. He'd never earn a place. Never.

The tears vanished as Alan just plain got mad – again. Virgil and Gordon, well what they said hurt, but somehow, it was less of a betrayal than Scott.

A mistake. Not only not wanted. 'Wanted to stop at four kids.' Well, that made the age difference make sense. The others were between a year and a half and two and a half years apart. He was separated from Gordon by five a half years. He'd always kind of wondered about that. That was bad enough, but that Mom had died having him made it so much worse. He'd heard stories about her, from all of them. All of his brother's had talked about how neat she had been. Fun and pretty. They had always sounded sad. Alan didn't even have one memory. How could he? She'd died when he was born.

Alan frowned a bit again. And Dad. His father, whom he had fought so much with the last few years. They couldn't seem to talk about anything without yelling at each other. That made more sense too. How could his father possibly like him? He'd killed his mother. A sudden, long forgotten memory of a day long past surfaced. Running crying to his father when he was very small. He'd tripped and scraped up his knee. He'd found his Dad looking a portrait of what he now knew to be his mother, and seeing a strange look on his father's face when he looked at him. His Dad hadn't even touched him, had actually just stepped back from him and called for Scott. Scott had just looked at his father, then grabbed Alan away.

Other small memories surfaced as well. Similar scenes of being very young and walking into that same room with various family members looking at the portrait, and having all conversations stop. Finally Alan had asked, at about 4 years, why everybody stopped talking when he came in. Did the Mommy in the picture tell them too? He didn't remember what was said, but he did remember Scott scooping him up and taking him out to play in the pool. He remembered that afternoon well, they'd had a ball. But now he wondered how much Scott had been hiding, and how much he was protecting his father.

The conversation this afternoon again. His father feeling 'part guilt, part wariness'. Guess that explains where the over protectiveness came in on the part of his father. Not because he was the youngest, but he wasn't wanted, so his Dad tried to keep him safe because of guilt for rather having his mother back, instead of him.

Tears burned behind Alan's eyes again, hurt warring with anger. To distract himself, he pulled himself up to look out the tiny window. He could see the window of his dorm room from here. Fermat was gone. Probably to class. Alan checked his watch. Geez, an hour had passed already since he came up here. He was supposed to be in class too. His Dad would kill him if he knew he cut . . .

Alan stopped that train of thought cold. So what. Nothing he did was apparently going to be right anyway. Today had certainly shown him that. Serves them right. Alan sank back on the stack of drop cloths he'd piled in here for a comfortable nest. It was nice and warm, and he didn't want to think anymore. Frankly, it just hurt to much. And anything he'd could touch on just led back the conversation he'd heard. He tried to blank his mind. The warmth of the late spring afternoon gradually relaxed him as the small space warmed comfortably. And before he knew it, he was asleep.

TB TB TB TB TB 

"Are you a complete IDIOT?" John Tracy thundered over the vidphone link from Thunderbird 5.

Even though he was expecting in, Scott still winced. He pinched his nose and rubbed his eyes against a growing headache. "Do me a favor and drop it a couple of decibels, will ya?"

John ignored his older siblings comment and continued his tirade. I can't believe you were so incredibly STUPID . . . Jeez, Scott, you had to have been acting like you were twelve or something. I didn't believe Dad when he called me. . . "

Scott spoke up more forcefully. "John. Shut. Up."

"No, I will not shut up!" John shot back. Scott looked back at his angry brother in mild awe. It wasn't often they saw him this worked up. It was . . . impressive. But that still didn't stop Scott from raising his voice to cut through the outburst. "I've had the pleasure of hearing this already from Dad, ok? I just wanted to know if you'd heard from Alan. That's all!" Scott rubbed his temples harder. "I really don't need another lecture. I'm kicking myself plenty enough for all of us right now as it is."

John clamped his mouth shut to still the angry flow of words at his older brother's comments. Scott truly did look awful. But John was still at a loss as to what he had heard from his father earlier. Jeff had called him to see if he had heard from Alan, as he couldn't raise him. He had filled John in fully. John had been trying to raise Alan himself every since. He needed to talk to him now! They'd all ribbed each other mercilessly over the years, but never, ever, had they been needlessly cruel. John couldn't even imagine the monumental unkindness of what Alan had overheard. Fifteen was tough age anyway. Not really a child, not yet an adult. And in the Tracy family, well, John thought it would probably be especially hard. Then to hear what he had heard coming from of all of them, but especially Scott. Scott had been the glue holding them together following their mother's death, helping their Dad practically raise the younger of the group. John knew how Alan looked up to Scott, and Scott was so protective of all of them, especially Alan.

"Scott," Scott looked up in surprise at the John's change in tone. "Please tell me you didn't mean what you said. I mean about Mom . . . and Alan . . ." John stumbled over his words before giving up.

Scott gave a deep sigh. He was deeply embarrassed that anybody really had to ask. But after this afternoon . . . well, John deserved an answer. "No. No, John, I didn't. Doesn't mean I haven't thought it in the past, when I was especially pissed off at Alan, or missing Mom right after she died." John raised his eyebrows at Scott's language, but didn't interrupt. "Gordon and Virgil basically told Dad the same thing. Just random, thoughtless words, with maybe a snippet of truth behind them from long ago, born out of exhaustion and frustration. Like when Dad couldn't look at Alan at times when he was little because he reminded him of losing Mom. But never because he didn't want Alan. Never, ever that!" he finished firmly.

John nodded. "I know what you mean." He paused. "And thanks, I needed to hear that."

Scott snorted. "The one who needs to hear that right now is Alan. And we can't raise him. I've been trying the landlines to the school and they can't find him either! You know Dad just left for the school about fifteen minutes ago?" John nodded. Scott continued, "I was just hoping that maybe you'd heard from him . . ." He trailed off, guilt palpable around him.

They were silent a moment, then John asked quietly, "Did Dad really ream you out?"

"Oh, yeah," Scott answered. The dressing down he and his brothers had received was like nothing he had heard in a long, long time. "It was . . . amazing."

John grinned knowingly. "Long time since you've been on the receiving end of one of Dad's lectures, Scotty."

"It could have been a lot longer yet to suite me," Scott agreed bluntly.

"How are Virgil and Gordon?"

"Making themselves scarce. Gordon went to the beach to swim and Virgil for a run. They're pretty ashamed of themselves, and worried about Alan."

There was another quiet moment. This time Scott broke the silence asking idly, "So what was Dad talking to Alan about anyway?"

John shook his head and gave a soft snort. "Apparently Alan had screwed up and forgotten to turn in an important assignment in his Science class. He has to do an extra credit paper in order to pass. He had decided to do it on Dad's space career and needed to get some information. Alan called Dad himself and told him."

Scott raised his eyebrows. "Really. Usually it's the teachers who call and then it's so late he's about to flunk."

"Nope," John answered, "This time it was Alan, 'fessing up. Dad leaned on him, of course. You know Dad. But I could tell he was pretty proud of him for coming clean."

"Poor kid," Scott replied. "We must seem like a hard act to follow."

"NOW," John commented pointedly. "But when you were Alan's age, geez, the dirt I've got on you . . ." He grinned knowingly at his older brother.

"Don't start," Scott pointed his finger sternly in the direction of his sniggering brother. "It goes both ways, buddy. But at least we didn't blow up a school like Alan did."

"Chemistry lab, "John automatically corrected. "But you came pretty darn close as I recall. Remember when . . ."

"Stop right there!" Scott sat straight up and held up a warning hand. "I know what you're going to say John Tracy, and don't you say one word! I think Dad's finally forgotten. I don't want anybody to remind him, anymore that I want Alan or Gordon hearing about it!"

John was laughing so hard he could hardly talk. "I'll BET you don't. Dad had to replace the whole computer system at that school when you were finished with it, and it's probably the first school ever to expel you, tell Dad to take Virgil and I to another school as well, and tomake sure that no Tracy ever darkened their door again." John grinned at his glowering brother. "How did you ever keep it from Gordon, anyway? I know you threatened me and Virgil with death, but how Gordy never head about it is beyond me."

"Magic," Scott said dryly.

"Hey Scott, do you think Alan ever realized how much trouble you got into at his age?" John asked.

Scott did have to break into a grin at that. "No, I don't think so. And I'd just assume he didn't. Dad wouldn't want him getting any ideas. He's creative enough on his own as it is."

John laughed. "No doubt. And anyway, he and Gordon, together, are a force to be reckoned with."

Scott grinned. "Besides, it would undermine my authority."

John snorted. "Like this didn't?"

Both brothers sobered immediately as they thought about the their current situation.

"Poor Alan," John finally murmured.

"Yeah, poor kid. Hope Dad finds him soon. I owe him one big apology," Scott said dejectedly.

"Oh yeah. You and two others," John confirmed.

"You know, once we apologize and he gets over it, Alan's going to milk this for all it's worth. You just watch," Scott warned.

John grinned. "Yep. And he'll have something to prove, that's for sure. . ." A sudden, unwelcome thought hit him. "Scott," he began slowly, "you don't think . . . I mean Alan isn't going to sulk. That just isn't his nature. He'll go on the offensive and fight back. You don't think that he'd try to prove . . ." John trailed off.

Scott lifted horrified eyes to his brother's, and finished his sentence. "That he's not a 'mistake' or a 'screw-up'. That he can do anything all on his own? That he can hold his own and accomplish something without us? I think that he just might."

John finished up quietly. "And making it a point of pride that he's better than us by running away and being able to stay in hiding indefinitely until he does whatever he decides to do and proved his point."

Scott uttered an explosive obscenity. "It fits, it really fit's, doesn't it? And he'd have the confidence because he took on the Hood this last Spring break. He was dammed lucky then. And he's had lots of practice in avoidance techniques, too."

John added, "from four of the best. And most creative." He thought a moment, then added in concern, "Think Dad has already thought of this?"

Thinking back over the last scant two hours, and his father's reactions, Scott frowned. First, Jeff had frantically tried to reach Alan, then he had laid a remarkably fast, though very, very through dressing down of his three errant sons. Then, in a shorter time than had seemed possible, he was on a plane to the mainland having brusquely turned down all tentative offers of assistance and accompaniment from his sons. He'd left Scott with instructions to keep trying Alan's vidphone. All in all, it was much faster than Scott had ever seen his father work on something like this before. Like maybe he was afraid this would be the last straw for Alan. The seemingly unrelated pieces now fit a nice, neat pattern. "Johnny," Scott said slowly, "I think that Dad's way ahead of us on this one."

TB TB TB TB TB 

Alan woke up nearly 3 hours later. Awareness came quickly, as well as a knot in his stomach as he remember the aftermath of the conversation he'd heard. That's what he got for trying to live up to the Tracy reputation. He'd been doing his homework, trying to be more responsible. He'd even called his father and confessed about the missing paper, and what he was planning to do about it. His father had lectured him, just as he'd expected, but had agreed to get him the information he'd wanted. Then in had walked his brother's, and another bombshell was dropped on him.

Alan's stomach turned at the memory. 'Mistake'. The word echoed with new meanings. To distract himself, Alan sat up, rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and looked outside. He felt his jaw drop in absolute disbelief.

In front of his dorm, exiting from the school's chauffeured limousine, and being greeted excessively by the ubiquitous Headmaster, was Jeff Tracy himself. Fermat trotted down the stairs to meet him. Alan shut his mouth with an audible snap. Jeff Tracy NEVER came to school functions. Usually Lady Penelope or one of his brothers came when term was over. But his father never put in a personal visit unlessAlan was in trouble. He watched in disbelief as Jeff put a hand on Fermat's shoulder, said something to the Headmaster, then turned back to Fermat. Fermat nodded, pointed towards their dorm, and with Jeff following, headed that way with the Headmaster trailing.

Alan lay back to think about this latest development. His father was here. No brothers. And the Headmaster was present. It all added up to one thing. He was in trouble again. What this time? Alan racked his brains. Well, hanging up on his father the way he did was definitely a problem, but that wouldn't warrant a visit. Skipping class, and, oh yeah, that dammed paper. That had to be it. Flunking Science. That absolutely meant a surprise parental visit.

So now what. Here he was, the 'mistake' of the family, screwing up again. Alan recalled his brother's words. "He screws up everything." Well not anymore. He'd show them. He'd prove he wasn't just somebody's mistake. Alan folded his arms behind his head and indulged in some daydreaming. He'd become famous, all on his own. Like International Rescue, but with his name. He wouldn't be anonymous. Maybe, like, oh, racing cars or something. All of his brothers would show up when he won something important, and then he could ignore them all for a change. Soctt who? Oh, yeah, I do have a brother, don't I.

Suddenly, Alan's daydreams were broken by the realization that he'd already made a decision. He sat up, thinking hard. A decision to a question he hadn't realized he was even asking. He wasn't going to sit through another lecture from his father, or teasing from his brothers for another suspension. He was done. He was going to run.


	3. Chapter Three Running

Who's In Trouble Now?

By Spense

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**: I had it pointed out to me that I was mixing Canon on this story. That the Tracy boy's mother died in an avalanche in the movie, and died by giving birth to Alan in the TV show. Quite honestly, when I set out to write this, I had completely forgotten that this was a plot point in the movie. I'd been thinking that it was like her name – Meg, Lucille, or something else. Decide which you like, and pick one! I'd been reading so much fan fiction that it really just slipped my mind. However, by the point this was brought to my attention, I'd already posted two chapters and the bulk of the story is completed. And since Alan's mother's death is the pivotal axis on which this story swings, well, what's done is done.

So, this is movie universe with one twist. Canon buffs, consider yourself warned. If you don't like it, don't read it. For the rest of you, enjoy.

Thank you very much, Takiu, I do appreciate you pointing this out.

Spense

Chapter Three – Running

As late afternoon set in, Alan began to plot. This was going to take some tight planning on his part. Knowing the recourses his family had at their disposal, (as well as their combined brain power) he knew it wasn't going to be a simple walk in the park and was under no illusions as to how hard this was going to be to do. But that would make it all the more sweet to make his point. No screw up here, that was for sure.

The first issue at hand was money. He had enough in his account to keep him going for awhile. But anytime he used his cash card, or made a withdrawal, it could be traced. Since he hadn't answered the phone or showed up in his room, Alan could bet it was pretty likely John was going to be tracking anything connected with him up in Thunderbird 5. Nope, he wasn't going to present any ammunition to them, or make so stupid a mistake. So, his bank account was out. He thought hard a couple of minutes, then grinned. He had it. Perfect. It would be one more nail in the coffin his father was going to build for him when he found out, but by then it would be way too late. It could definitely work.

One thought built on another, and suddenly he knew exactly where he was going to go. A grin lit up his face. The irony of it was absolutely marvelous. And his brother's probably thought he didn't even know the meaning of the word.

Carefully, Alan looked out the window and scouted the lay of the land. Nobody in his dorm room, and nobody really in sight. Coast was clear, and time for the first step. Grinning to himself, he set out. On his own for a change. Nobody to tell him what to do, or how to do it, or that he had to wait until he was older. No more 'screw up'. Alan pushed the hurt that thought generated to one side. Better to concentrate on what he was doing, and what he was going to prove. This was going to be fun!

TB TB TB TB TB

Jeff Tracy frowned in annoyance. "Fermat, can you think of anywhere else he might have gone?"

"N-n-no Sir," Fermat answered nervously.

Jeff ran his hand through his hair in total frustration. His youngest son's inventiveness truly knew no bounds. Fermat had shown him two absolutely ingenious bolt-holes that Alan had set up. They were well hidden and well stocked. Having four somewhat inspired older brothers had led to a streak of creativity in Alan that Jeff found somewhat daunting. And right now he was most concerned about where that resourcefulness was going to land his youngest son.

Alan's inventiveness, combined with a healthy streak of self preservation honed by four older brothers was bad enough. Add to that the normal frustrations of being a young teenager in a family of older, well accomplished adults was just a recipe for trouble. The incident with the Hood this Spring had shown Jeff that, all too well. As impressed as he'd been by Alan's handling of the situation, he was also worried. Alan was just to young to be shouldered with that kind of responsibility, and right now he was probably thinking he could do anything. But all the above, in tandem with the hurt and anger that Jeff knew Alan had to be feeling right now, well, it came down to a very volatile combination.

Little did they know, but Scott and John had been correct in their assessment of Jeff Tracy. Jeff was scared to death that Alan would run away. Not from sullenness or pettiness, that just wasn't in Alan. He'd make a fantastic team-member of International Rescue one day, if he chose to. Alan would always face the fallout of his actions without problem. He always had. No, Alan would run away out of frustration at being held back, and now, out of a very strong desire to prove to himself. And to prove especially that he wasn't a 'mistake.' No, the motives were very, very different than sulkiness. And that worried Jeff more than anything else.

The emotional high of the events of spring break had worn off, and Alan had found, to his chagrin, that his life was still exactly the same, the exception being his added training for the Thunderbirds. Jeff had added that partially in self defense. Alan was going to explore the 'birds anyway, and he may as well had actual training rather than trying to figure them out on his own. They'd seen where THAT had led! However, the war between Alan and Jeff when his son realized he was still expected to return to Wharton Academy and finish school had been massive. Alan had left in a foul mood, and the cloud hanging over the Island had taken awhile to lift. Even so, Jeff had been impressed with how responsible Alan had been since then. Alan was really trying. That was all Jeff could ask, was that Alan do his best. And he had been. Until today. Now the house of cards was all over the floor, and Alan was nowhere to be found.

Jefferson Tracy was scared. More scared than he'd been since he realized the Hood had taken over Tracy Island. And this time he had no outside interest to blame. This was all on their own heads. And now Alan might well be out there somewhere, over-confident, in a world that was not often kind to children, and Jeff would pull out all stops to find him.

Jeff's reverie was broken by a polite voice. "Excuse me, Sir?" Jeff looked up to see the Headmaster's assistant waiting for him. "The Headmaster would like to speak with you. Follow me please?" The young man indicated to the administration building.

"Certainly," Jeff answered, then looked to Fermat. "Thank you, Fermat," he said with a smile. Then he thinned his lips, thinking. "Fermat, if you see Alan, tell him to stay put in his room!" With that comment, and Fermat's nod of assent, he turned an followed the young assistant towards the administration building.

Fermat watched for a moment, then headed for his room in trepidation. Alan was going to kill him for showing Mr. Tracy the hiding places. He was so going to get pounded when Alan finally showed up.

TB TB TB TB TB

Jeff stayed at the school for two days. After 24 hours of fruitless searching, he called the police and put in a missing persons report. The authorities met with Jeff and the Headmaster in the main offices of the school. Jeff kept the details quiet. He explained that there had been an argument, and Alan hadn't been seen since. They would keep this quiet as long as possible. While Jeff and the authorities did feel that Alan had probably tried to run away, they couldn't rule out kidnapping. Even apart from International Rescue, Alan Tracy, son of billionaire Jeff Tracy was a tempting target. It was distinctly possible that Alan had fallen into unfriendly hands, and Jeff was taking no chances. Nor were the police. Jeff offered a hefty reward for the return of his son.

The following morning, Thursday, he headed home, feeling that he couldn't do anything else. At Brain's request, Fermat accompanied him. If there was an outside party involved, there was no use making Fermat a target as well. He would just finish out the term by correspondence from Tracy Island.

The other thing making Jeff distinctly uneasy was that Alan had never returned to his room. All of his belongs were there, including his cell phone. The only thing missing was his wallet, which Fermat confirmed that Alan had had with him when he left. The hardest thing Jeff had had to do in a long time was to pack up Alan's things.

By Friday morning, word had leaked to all the major media. Lurid stories were run on the front page of all the major newspapers, speculating about the missing youngest son of the reclusive billionaire and astronaut, Jeff Tracy. Reports added dark hints of possible foul play, and played up the reward.

For his part, after seeing the newspapers, Alan Tracy ducked into the nearest store and bought several bottles of dark hair dye.


	4. Chapter Four And the Game is Afoot

Who's In Trouble Now?

By Spense

Chapter Four – And the Game is Afoot

Tracy Island was a-buzz with activity. Jeff Tracy had closeted himself in his office, searching for any leads he could find. He was constantly in contact with John, who, for his part was monitoring anything connected with Alan. Penny was hard at work from England, working with her contacts. Scott, Gordon and Virgil all tiptoed carefully around. All inhabitants of the island made it quite clear that it would be a long while before they were forgiven.

TB TB TB TB TB

Gordon came up for air after his early morning swim, the day following Jeff Tracy's arrival back home. Virgil tossed him a towel from the poolside lounge chair he was sitting in, without looking up from the papers he was reading covering Alan's disappearance. "Don't drip on me."

Gordon flicked a damp hand at him in response, smattering the newspaper with water drops."

"Ass," Virgil growled, shaking the paper to remove the excess water.

Gordon dropped to the next chair and began to towel off. He nodded at the pile of newspapers next to Virgil. "You don't think Alan was kidnapped, do you?" he asked, subdued.

Virgil frowned thoughtfully. "I don't know. At first, I'd have said no way, the squirt's running away. But it's been over two days and Al hasn't picked up his clothes, money, anything! I don't know what to think now." Virgil chewed his lower lip, and gazed unseeingly out at the ocean. "I really don't know, Gordon, and that scares me to death."

Gordon watched him knowingly. Virgil was the sensitive one in the family, a musician and artist. This had hit him hard, especially considering the fact that he had a hand in it. He reached out and touched Virgil's shoulder. "He'll be okay, Virg, really he will. He's a smart kid."

"Yeah?" Storm clouds covered Virgil's mobile face as he swung around to face his younger brother. "And what makes you so sure, huh?" Dawning comprehension began to loom. He slowly got up. "If you had anything to do with helping Alan disappear, so help me, I swear I'll . . ."

Gordon's stunned and equally angry denial was cut off by the klaxon announcing a rescue. Both knowing the matter was far from dropped, they headed down the hall at a run.

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The rescue was a cave-in, and it was dirty, tiring work. That aside, it was as routine as any rescue could be really be called, and it was finished quickly and successfully. Jeff had noticed all along the tensions between his middle and second youngest sons, although they had worked professional and effectively together. As soon as they arrived home, he gathered them in his office, before they'd had a chance to clean up. They had enough problems right now without having to deal with another incipient storm.

"All right, what gives," Jeff said, from where he stood, leaning against the edge of his desk. He'd purposefully remained standing, after making sure all three son's were seated. With all that was happening, he was going to keep a tight rein on everybody just now.

Scott, who had taken in the scene with knowing eyes, and thinking that they hadn't been arranged like this since they were kids, just shrugged and held up his hands in a 'not me' gesture.

Virgil opened his mouth to begin, filled with what he felt was righteous anger, born out of worry.

Gordon beat him to it. "Virgil all but accused me of helping Alan disappear!" he growled indignantly. He started to get up in order to pace the room.

"SIT!" Jeff thundered. Gordon sat, but didn't shut up. Scott mentally shook his head. Gordon and Alan both just never seemed to know when to quit.

"I mean, he all but said . . ."

"Well, did you?" Jeff asked the known prankster pointedly, breaking off the impending tirade effectively.

"HELL NO!" Gordon shouted.

Scott did his best to disappear into the couch, and pretended like he wasn't present.

"I feel as bad as everyone else, and I don't appreciate . . ." Gordon would have continued but for his father's barked order.

"GORDON!" Jeff was furious. "QUIET!" He nodded succinctly at Gordon who subsided.

Outside the office, Fermat and Tin-tin had been approaching with some mail for Jeff that had just arrived on the island. At the shouting voices, they stopped dead, and looked at each other.

"Maybe just d-d-d-deliver it later?" Fermat asked tentatively.

"Definitely." Tin-tin nodded succinctly.

The two tuned on their heel immediately and hurried back down to Brains lab, where they had been spending most of their time lately. It was really the only safe place on the island right now.

Back in the office, Jeff had turned to his middle son. "Virgil. What make you think that Gordon is involved?"

"Come on Dad! Gordon? He can make anybody think just about anything! Think about just last month! He had Scott believing that new tennis ace, the one that looks like a model? Was in love with him. He had gone so far as to set Scott up at a restaurant, supposedly by her invitation and on her tab. Scott being, suspicious, had John run checks. Gordon had even doctored bank accounts, airline tickets, and the works!"

Scott felt his cheeks turning pink as he swore to himself. Nice going, Virgil. Now he was in trouble for using IR resources for personal reasons. But it had been elaborate . . .and effective. And had Gordon written all over it. The older Gordon got, the more complex his planning had become. He felt his father glance pointedly at him, hearing the unspoken 'we'll talk later' before he turned back to Virgil.

"But do you have any kind of proof? That's a serious accusation to level at your brother, especially in light that he was part of the problem to begin with, just as you were."

Virgil sat silent, shifting uncomfortably. After a long pause, he had to admit he didn't. "No."

Gordon started to bounce up to drive the point home, but was stopped in time by a hard, unobtrusive tug on his flight suit by his oldest brother. He subsided back to his seat.

Jeff rubbed his temples for a moment, then crossed his arms. "Do you boys realized what you're doing? Our goal right now needs to be to work together to find Alan. Not blame each other. Right now, all of you are acting like you're about thirteen! Now, all of you, go find something useful to do!"

With a chorus of 'yes sirs', the three brothers filed out of the room. The minute they'd cleared the door, the angry, whispered, argument started up.

"Nice going, ace!" An angry Gordon hissed at Virgil.

"What the hell were you thinking, telling Dad that I'd used IR recourses . . ."

"You're always the one who starts everything . . ."

Jeff hadn't moved from where he was standing. He stood with arms crossed, gave a long suffering sigh, and didn't even look up. "BOYS!"

The voices stopped immediately.

Jeff said purposefully, "Scott, go clean the mole. It's due for servicing."

Virgil and Gordon looked at their older brother in sympathy as he winced.. That was a truly vile job.

"And when you're done with that, I'd suggest you go over the Firefly carefully as well. Virgil, I think the beaches need to be remapped after the recent storms. Gordon, please clean the pools and the hot tubs. Then you can check with Kyrano about any other household maintenance and chores he needs done. I believe some work on the gardens is in order as well."

The chorus of subdued 'yes sirs' met him again, and the three began to split off for their various assignments. Jeff couldn't believe it. He'd just had to split up his grown sons to keep them from fighting and keep them out of trouble. Did he have something in age regression happening here?

"Thunderbird five to Base."

"Yes John!" Jeff looked up immediately.

"Dad! I think I have something on Alan!"

His three other sons were immediately crowding the doorway. Jeff waved them in as he turned towards the vidphone.

John was shaking his head. "You won't believe it, Dad." He stopped for a moment as he took in the faces of all four Tracy's, apparently registering that something had just happened.

"Go ahead son," Jeff urged, ignoring John's questioning look.

John made a mental note to talk to Scott later, he said. "Ann Marie Watkins called." Ann Marie was Jeff's longtimeassistant at Tracy Enterprises, and was one of the few who knew everything about the Tracy's, including International Rescue. "She'd been trying to reach you, but I intercepted the call since you were on a rescue. Apparently, she's been on vacation since Wednesday."

"Right," Jeff acknowledged.

"So, when she read the papers, she called right away. It seems that Alan called her Tuesday. He'dlost his cash card and couldn't access his account, and couldn't get hold of you."

Jeff frowned. So far this sounded reasonable. It was what he'd always told his sons to do if they needed money. Ann Marie knew them all well – she had since they were babies.

"The kicker is that I guess Alan told her that in addition to his usual spending money, he needed to access the money in his school account for a class trip. Airfare, hotel, meals, etc., and that he'd also managed to lose his school books. So she wired him the money after telling him to open a new account right away for all of it," John hesitated for a moment. He still couldn't quite believe it. "Not only did she wire him what he requested, she replaced what was in his oldaccount so she could close it, she also added some on top because he sounded so upset, and she thought it might take awhile too get his account straightened out." John paused, then disclosed the amount.

There was dead silence in the room for a moment, then Gordon whistled in appreciation and began to laugh. "Gotta hand it to the kid."

Jeff closed him down with a glance. "When was this, John?"

"Four pm Tuesday afternoon. I've traced the call. It came from a pay phone on the school grounds. The money was picked up twenty minutes later, in town, at a place within walking distance from Wharton Academy. I've pulled the security tapes, and it was Alan all right. He didn't even try to hide; he all but smiled at the camera! And, no new account in Alan's name has been opened."

Dead silence reigned once againin Jeff's study while the Tracy's assimilated this information.

Scott finally said quietly, "Dad, you arrived at the school at 1:30 on Tuesday."

"And Alan called from the grounds at 4pm. He was still there!" Virgil finished incredulously.

The silence was broken once again by Gordon, who apparently would go where angels feared to tread. He was shaking his head in admiration. "Go Alan." He shut up immediately at a look from his father. Jeff looked at all three sons.

"Don't you boys have something your supposed to be doing?" He asked pointedly.

They took the hint, and with another chorus of 'yes sirs', quickly dispersed.

John looked on in amusement and asked, "What was that all about?"

"I seem to have acquired three more teenagers of about Alan's age," Jeff commented wryly.

John gave a startled burst of laughter, and making a mental note to get it out of Scott later, returned to the subject. "Dad, Ann Marie feels terrible. She had no idea what was happening."

"I'll call her. This isn't her fault. She was doing what I'd instructed her too, and don't think that I don't know how good Alan is at doing the 'I'm the youngest' act and using those big blue eyes of his to perfection.. He's been able to wrap any adult around his little finger without much effort from the time he was two." He grinned knowingly at his son. "And don't think for a moment that I'm not aware of how many times any of the four of you have put him up to it for your own advantage."

John squirmed uncomfortably. "Right Dad," he returned to the subject at hand quickly. "Do you want to call her back, or shall I?"

Jeff grinned at John's embarrassment and replied, "I'll call her. Nice work John."

"Thanks Dad. Thunderbird Five out."


	5. Chapter Five Plot Counterplot

Who's In Trouble Now?

By Spense

Chapter Five – Plot Counterplot

Alan had slept hard in his hiding place during the day on Friday. The bolt hole at school had proved invaluable, but he couldn't stay forever. He'd be bored to death. After nights of putting his plans into place and trying to sleep during the day, he was ready to be out of here. But it was a necessary evil. He had to take some time to get everything together. His saving grace was the fact that he and his buddies had once made it a point of pride to be able to access the most secure of the teachers offices. Not ever Fermat knew about that dare. What he didn't know, wouldn't hurt him. They both operated by that!

The irony of using the schools computers for his purposes was something Alan really enjoyed. There was a symmetry to it that tickled him. But now, Alan checked his watch, he had to get moving. It was getting close on 4am on Saturday and he had things to do.

Putting on clear, non-prescription glasses he had picked up at the drug store, Alan smiled to himself. Between those and the semi-permanent dark brown hair dye, he sure didn't look like the pictures in the paper. And as the crowning touch, a baseball cap he'd picked up at one of the souvenir shops on his very careful forays into town. The cap, emblazoned with 'International Rescue' was just too good to pass up. And with the non-descript clothes and backpack he'd picked up cheaply at the thrift store, and he was good to go. He knew he'd been lucky not to be spotted, but every good campaign needed luck to survive. He also knew nobody would expect him to still be here. Oh, this was just too much fun. Take that, everybody who thinks Alan Tracy is a mistake and a screw up!

Time to go. He needed to be out of here before everybody was up and around. Saturdays were notoriously unpredictable. He needed to be in place when his 'bomb' went off. All hell would break loose then, and keep everybody he was concerned with busy, while he headed to his chosen destination.

Alan left Wharton Academy. Probably for the last time when the Headmaster learned what his computer had been used for in the dead of night.

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"Dad! I've gotten a hit on Alan off of one of the airline reservation programs!" John's excited call came in mid Saturday morning, bringing Jeff to the vidphone in a rush. There had been no rescue calls as of yet, and following breakfast, his sons had scattered throughout the island, involved in the various tasks he'd set for them. Fermat and Tintin had vanished right after the meal, as had become the norm for them lately. Peace reigned, at least for the moment.

"Where John?" Jeff asked eagerly, leaning forward to get a closer look at what John was doing.

"Looks like . . . Boston to Washington DC, then to . . . Paris?" he finished doubtfully. "No wait, here's another one." There was a pause, then, "Is Virgil going somewhere on commercial airlines?"

"No," was Jeff's reply. "At least nothing I'm aware of, why?"

"Because he's booked on a flight from New York to LA to Tokoyo in an hour," John finished.

"What!" Are you sure?" Jeff asked, sitting down.

"Yeah. "Here's another. In Alan's name, this time on the train. Boston to Florida." He started to laugh. "Luxury sleeper car – for two! Hang on, no. Wait. No, the first reservation was cancelled, but here are three more. One's in your name Dad. No, geez . . ." John trailed off.

"What is it John?" Jeff asked, slightly apprehensive at his son's rambling monologue. "Just trace the reservations and find out which of them he uses."

"I . . . don't think it's going to be quite that easy. We're going to need help," John finished helplessly. "Lots and lots of help."

Hours later, computers covered every spare inch of space in Jeff's study. All hands who could run onehad beendrafted. Kyrano declined, saying somebody had to feed them all. The study became a war room, and the battle was joined

It was quickly determined that the problem was a very sophisticated computer virus. It was sent to various airline, train, bus, and travel agency computers piggybacked onto an innocent reservation. One reservation would multiple into thousands in minutes, snaking their way through the system, eventually turning back on themselves and canceling the travel plans. The only constants in the barrage were that all bore the name of Tracy. Pick whichever Tracy first name you wanted, but all were names of the family.

Some reservations were changed as many as ten times before finally canceling. Others were actually sold online to secondary parties, and the money credited back against the account on which it came. Others were actually used. (Brains was fascinated with that, and everybody knew he wasn't going to get any sleep until he figured that one out.) This prompted the authorities to go out to each site and physically check who was using the ticket. None were Alan. Some reservations bounced from company to company and method of travel before finally canceling.

The problem was that each entry had to be followed. Because one of the barrage of many would actually be used by Alan. Of this they had no doubt. Brains said it would actually take longer to write a program to fix it because there were too many variables. Problem was, 'quicker' was a relative term.

The barrage of information lasted exactly four hours, then stopped flat. The amount of time to finish sorting through the mess took significantly longer than that, even with the resources of all five Tracys, Brains, Fermat, TinTin, and Lady Penelope in England.

The end result was that Alan would use one of these trails. They had to find that one. Meaning, eliminate everything until you found the one that couldn't be eliminated. Divide and conquer was the word of the day.

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Alan smiled to himself as he saw the police at the ticket counter. The woman behind it was frowning at the computer and the police were frustrated. He enjoyed watching from behind his magazine. When the bus he wanted was called, Alan went to anotherticket counter, purchased a ticket to his destination (with cash), then walked calmly past the frustrated group and boarded his bus.

TB TB TB TB TB

Scott finished up sorting the last of the blitz of entries he had on his system. He stretched out his arms, and rolled his neck, feeling the popping of his spine. "Well, I've come up with a big fat zero."

Virgil sighed. "Me too."

Hours of straight crossing and matching the massive blitz of computer entries in all the travel programs and companies, and ways of traveling from airplane, train or bus routing from points close to Wharton Academy to points as far away as Greenland. Everything had turned out to be zero. There hadn't even been a rescue call to break their focus.

John chimed in. "Nothing here. Everything turned up zero. Lady P turned up nothing as well."

Everybody was finishing up at about the same time, tallying up their results. All were a resounding nothing.

"I don't believe it!" Gordon muttered. "It was all a trick!"

Scott just groaned, burying his head in his hands. "All that work."

"You know," Virgil said slowly, "the bookkeeping on this when the credit card statements come is going to be enormous."

Jeff groaned. He couldn't help himself. Virgil was right. Alan had accessed about eight different Tracy credit cards - corporate and personal, and at least three different Tracy Enterprises bank accounts.

"How did Alan ever do this?" Virgil commented, amazed, looking at the huge body of information in front of him.

"The answer is, he couldn't," Gordon commented. He thought a moment, then said slowly, "He had to have help." After a pause, he yelled, "FERMAT!"

Fermat looked up startled. "W-w-what?"

Gordon started to round on him. "When did you write this?"

"I d-d-d-didn't!"

"Easy Gordon," Jeff calmed his son with a glance. "Why are you blaming Fermat?"

"Because Alan couldn't have written this!"

"Yes he could!" Fermat shouted back.

"Really," John said slowly from the vid-link, the wheels turning at Fermat's adamant reaction. "Fermat, tell us about Alan and computers. Why you think he could write something like this?"

Virgil looked disbelievingly at his brother. "He couldn't do something like this! He's in ninth grade for God's sake." Virgil ignored the glare from his father regarding his language.

"And I've never seen anything he's done here at home that would show that," Scott had to agree.

Jeff shrugged and looked inquiringly at Brains. Fermat was his son, it was up to him to dictate what his son would say, no matter how much Jeff wanted to know the answer.

"Y-y-yes son, do," Brains smiled slightly at Jeff, then nodded for Fermat to start talking.

Fermat looked around at the faces staring at him and sighed. "I k-k-k-know he can, because he writes complicated p-p-programs and v-v-v-viruses like this at school all the time. He says it keeps him fr-fr-from getting bored. He w-w-w-wrote on one time for our room door to open automatically a-a-at certain times because I kept forgetting my k-k-key, and older kids kept trying t-t-to swipe my stuff. It was really complicated, and it w-w-w-was a security program too. He did it as a-a-a-a surprise for m-m-me one afternoon." He shrugged at his now rapt audience. "He writes stuff like this all the time for other kids too. They pay h-h-h-him a lot for it." Fermat finished quickly, glad Alan wasn't here. He'd never forgive him.

Dead silence reigned in the room as Fermat finished.

"You know," John commented thoughtfully, "I do believe our little brother hasn't exactly been working up to his full potential."

"Why wouldn't he tell us he could do this?" Virgil wondered aloud.

"Probably never even occurred to him, because Fermat, Brains and John are the computer geniuses of the bunch of us, and to his way of thinking, none of the things he writes would be in their league. So it wouldn't be anything very impressive," Scott said firmly, knowing he was right.

"For a ninth grader?" John replied in disbelief. "I'm impressed."

"And why kill the cash cow?" Gordon laughed, earning him a glare from Scott and Jeff.

"I had no idea he could be so ingenious," Jeff commented thoughtfully, finally removing his gaze from his squirming fourth son.

"Try 'diabolical'," Virgil said, shaking his head.

Jeff sighed, ignoring the comment. "We'll deal with that later. What we do know," He looked around the room, "is that this was a very clever smoke screen. It's diverted our attention, and the authorities, for nearly a day and a half. But right now we know one thing for certain," he looked at them all, "Alan is on the move."

"And n-n-not in unfriendly h-h-hands, for the moment at least," Brains commented.

"Probably," Jeff agreed, although this really didn't prove anything definitively.

"Good," a low voice muttered from the vicinity of Alan's exhausted brothers as they packed up their things. "Then I can kill him myself."

At Jeff's frown, all looked innocent and Jeff didn't bother to try to figure out the culprit. There was too much at stake. And, to be honest, there was a part of him agreeing with that sentiment right now as they all filed tiredly out of the room, heading for showers and bed, praying that no rescue call came in.


	6. Chapter Six Status Quo

Who's In Trouble Now?

By Spense

Chapter Six – Status Quo

One week after stepping onto a bus, Alan hopped down the steps of the New York Humanities and Social Sciences library in Manhattan, the place he currently called home. When Alan first began making his plans, he thought long and hard about what he wanted to do. He had finally decided that his ultimate dream was to race cars. He'd always loved speed – drove his father crazy. And Virgil had always said Alan only had one speed – very fast. So that's what he would do. Later. But first, short term, he wanted to explore New York City.

Tracy Enterprises was based in Manhattan, and Alan had been there often. He loved it, and had always wanted to see all the sights. But somehow, he never really got to. They were always in a hurry, had to get to the office, didn't have time, etc. Alan had grown up on stories from his older brothers about exploring the city together when the Tracy Tower was being built. But Alan was either not around at that point, or was with the hotel babysitter at the Plaza, where the family had always stayed. But when he was old enough to go along, things had changed. His father was busy with work, his brothers had seen everything many times, and were only interested in their own pursuits. So Alan got drug along with Virgil to the symphony (boring), with Gordon to every joke shop in town (actually pretty fun), with Scott to anything that had to do with flying (that was okay too), and with John to things that either had to do with astronomy or books. (The first was ok, the second was a big, fat loser). But for anything he wanted to see, nobody ever seemed to have any time.

Alan wasn't stupid. He know that the feeling of being left out of those shared experiences had whet his desire to see the city. But he also had a couple of ulterior motives as well. One, it was great to be able to thumb his nose at Tracy Tower – which he could see from where he was standing. Alan shaded his eyes and saw the gleaming black spire reaching for the sky. And here he was, the Tracy mistake, hiding right in plain sight under their noses. There was something very satisfying about that.

The other reason was more mundane. He needed to find out more about car racing. His father had always said that the best way to research something was to hit the library. Alan had always preferred computers and going online. But the Metropolitan Library systems offered both. And Alan needed to find out about where the tracks were and what kind of jobs a kid could get in order to break into racing. Not having a drivers license was kind of a minor problem, but he figured he'd deal with that when the time came. But another benefit of the library besides information was that the old buildings of the major research libraries also offered a rabbit warren of old rooms, forgotten storage closets and blocked off spaces, perfect for his needs.

Alan had once had to read a book by E. L. Konigsburg called 'From the Mixed-up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankwieler" for a class project. It was about two kids who ran away and hid in a huge museum. He'd remembered it and grabbed it from the Wharton Academy Library to read again on one of his midnight forays. It had some very interesting ideas about hiding in museums. He knew that wouldn't necessarily work for him, but a library just might. Besides, who would EVER look for him in a library. Alan didn't care much for books, and that was well known in his family.

So when he logged into the Headmaster's computer for his nightly work, he didn't just work on his travel virus (he was really proud of that one – eat your heart out, Gordon!), he researched the New York library system (as well as working on another virus which he left on the Headmaster's computer – it should have made the machine self-destruct by now). He'd formulated a few ideas and did some research on what he could expect. Then, his first day in New York, he checked out the best of them. Several didn't work as planned, but one in particular was excellent. Alan spent the rest of the day getting established, buying what he needed from the dollar store and settling in.

Home was now a space in the basement storage stacks. The room was locked, but Alan had a small file that worked great with the ancient lock. Parker had taught him some interesting tricks during the long hours while his family was gone on rescues and he was stuck babysitting Alan. One more instance of being the family problem and the consequence of a 'mistake'. Everybody was stuck with him against their will at one time or another, he thought bitterly.

The basement storage room looked to be hardly used; huge bookcases against an irregular wall that was bisected with huge pipes going vertically and sometimes horizontally as the heating, plumbing and electricity were upgraded over the years. Alan found where a huge bookcase was out from the wall because of a pipe, creating a perfect rectangle space of about 3 feet by 6 feet, with about a foot opening by the next pipe. The corner was black even when the light was on, and to see him, a person would have practically had to be on top of him. It would work. It was only for a few months anyway. Then he'd be onto stage two, getting into racing.

So now he was set. It was all so much easier than expected. He couldn't believe it. He should have done this years ago. It was great to be on his own. He didn't have to answer to anybody, or do anything he didn't want too, and above all, didn't have to be anybody's grudging responsibility. As long as he was careful, he'd be okay. He'd give himself through July to play, then he'd have to start looking around race tracks to get a job. Nothing seemed impossible now. He'd gotten this far, how hard could the rest be? He'd work out the details later.

Right now, time for some fun. He settled his International Rescue hat more firmly on his head, adjusted his sunglasses, and slung his backpack over his shoulder and headed out to see some more of the city.

TB TB TB TB TB

One week turned into three, then five. Alan's life had settled into a routine. Mornings he usually hit the town, going to some landmark or another. The one thing he hadn't seen yet was the Statue of Liberty. The Metropolitan Museum of Art was on his list too. He wanted to see the place in the book he'd read – the place where the runaway kids had hidden. But he hadn't gotten there yet either. He'd do that on a rainy day sometime.

Once or twice a week he'd head over to the Science, Industry and Business library and just cruise through the stacks. He began by reading up on car racing, engines, and race tracks – all part of stage two of his plans. But one thing led to another, and pretty soon he was getting sidetracked on all kinds of other tangents. He read about the history of industry, and eventually moved onto rocket engines and space flight. That was his favorite so far. Interestingly enough, he learned more about his father's space career through reading at the library than he ever had at home.

One of the librarians, a Ms. Meredith, had gotten used to seeing him. He'd spun her a story about his parents making him do this over the summer because of his poor grades in school. She'd been sympathetic, and usually had something interesting pulled for him when he came in. So her desk was usually his first stop when he arrived. And her suggestions usually lead to more tangents, and greater exploration of the gold mine of information at his finger tips. Unfortunately, he wasn't getting much research done on where he was going to go to get into racing. But that was okay, he had the time. It was only early summer, after all.

Alan was fascinated with the information he was finding, and absorbed it like a sponge. Why did all the teachers make this stuff seem so dry? It was really cool.

The other thing he discovered was fiction. That was just by a fluke. One day it was really hot, and he was tired. He'd ducked into a neighborhood branch library to cool off. He'd wandered his way over to the fiction section, and recognized a book on display as one owned by his brother, John. John was the reader of the family. His nose was always in a book, and he had bookshelves crammed full in his room.

To kill some time, Alan picked it up and started to leaf through it. Four hours later, he was still entranced. The book was 'Dune', by Frank Herbert. Alan found it again later at a library closer to his 'home', and most afternoons was at one library or another inhaling science fiction and fantasy and mysteries. He was still careful to mix up the various library branches where he went – it wouldn't do to get careless.

But all in all, his days were enjoyable. Not a lot was being accomplished towards his bigger goals, but he figured he'd earned a vacation anyway. The nights were harder – that was when he found he really missed his home and his family. The hurt still lingered, buried shallowly, and easily unearthed by a stray thought, or a random comment, or the sight of a family walking together.

He sometimes thought he was just being melodramatic with all of his precautions. He wondered if they were even still looking for him. It was possible that they were not. That they were glad to be rid of the family 'mistake' and the 'problem child'. But it wasn't healthy for him to think about home too much. Much easier to bury his nose in a book for awhile and escape the hurt that lurked so close. So Alan did just that. And life went on.

TB TB TB TB TB

There seemed to be a permanent cloud cast over Tracy Island. The mood was best described as glum. Jeff remained tense and worried as the days turned into weeks. Scott and Virgil gritted their teeth and rode out the wave of parental disapproval, finishing all the unpleasant tasks set for them. Eventually they were back in good graces, and were determined to stay that way. They were most grateful to be getting excellent meals again – not just cold cereal and peanut butter sandwiches from a distantly cool Ohana.

Gordon, on the other hand, was running true to form. Of course he was worried, and scared to death about his younger brother. But he was also highly impressed with Alan's ingenuity to date, and his ability to stay one step ahead of the posse, so to speak. All five Tracys, Brains, and who knew what law enforcement agencies were involved. And Gordon knew he'd seen FBI reports cross his father's desk. Alan was still not to be found. Not bad for a fifteen year old kid! They'd find him eventually, Gordon knew that. Time, sheer numbers of people looking, and Alan's immaturity were all on their side.

But still, that Alan had lasted this long pointed to some previously unforeseen depths in his little brother. Gordon was truly impressed, and wasn't hiding it. That unconcealed appreciation, as each near miss or late sighting unfolded was not winning him points from the older Tracy's, who were worried sick. Not that Gordon wasn't, but he just couldn't seem to keep his mouth shut.

It was that attitude that finally prompted John to request that Gordon come relieve him. For Gordon, the waterdog of the family that he was, TB 5 was the last place he ever wanted to go. "It will keep him out of trouble, and keep the rest of you from being able to strangle him," John pointed out. Jeff couldn't argue with his logic, and a loudly grumbling Gordon went up to the space station with strict instructions on what to monitor.

John came down gratefully. At last he could help more in the search. He knew he was helping from TB 5, but it just wasn't the same. Scott and Virgil were as glad to see him as they were to see Gordon go. Gordon received a major dressing down from John the minute he cleared the airlock. Therefore, it was a much more subdued (and much easier to tolerate) Gordon who manned TB 5, than who had left the island. Virgil also had to endure the same tirade from John, but he handled it with better grace. He was well aware that he deserved it.

And life went on as such on Tracy Island as late Spring turned into early Summer.


	7. Chapter Seven Close Calls and Near Miss...

Who's In Trouble Now?

By Spense

Chapter Seven – Close Calls and Near Misses

Alan was out on his morning jaunt, heading for the bus for the days destination. Thinking back on it later, he realized he must have been getting lax. I mean, how could you miss a bright pink car? But, he managed to do it – somehow. He didn't even realize it until a hand snaked out and grabbed his upper arm in an iron hold and spun him around.

Alan found that he was face to face with Parker. And that Parker didn't look like the friendly protector he'd always known. Rather, he didn't look all happy with him at all.

"Well, well . . . what 'ave we 'ere?" Parker commented rhetorically, his eyes narrowed in a stern expression. "Master Alan Tracy himself."

Alan found himself mesmerized. Kind of like a mouse facing a snake.

"You come right along with me, young man," Parker growled, not releasing Alan by an inch. "I know some people who'll be right glad to see you!" From the look on Parker's face, Alan got the impression that Parker himself wasn't one of them.

If Alan had ever wondered how much trouble he was in, he didn't have to wonder any more. Parker looked furious. Alan found himself shoved none-to-gently into the back of FAB-1. Parker narrowed his eyes at him and pointed a finger at him. "You stay right there, Master Alan," he said sternly as he hit the button that put the canopy up on the car. "Milady will definitely be wanting a word with you." With a final glare, he slammed the door shut. Alan heard the locks snap shut, and that finally jolted him into action. He lunged for the door, but it was too late. He was locked in tight.

'Damm!' Alan ripped his IR baseball cap off his head and threw it onto the floor of the car in a fit of pique which quickly passed. 'Stupid, stupid, stupid!'

Taking his sunglasses off and throwing them carelessly onto the seat next to him, Alan leaned back, crossing his arms dejectedly. It couldn't be over. Not yet. Besides, if Parker was this mad . . . how mad must his father be? Chances are, absolutely furious. Alan mentally ran over his list of transgressions covering the last month and a half, and gave an involuntary shudder at the tally. Well, he'd certainly managed to top all of his previous lists and his brothers past history combined. The travel virus alone . . He could safely say his brothers would want to pound him for all the time they probably wasted on that one. But his father . . .well, that one incident in itself would pretty much ensure that he wouldn't be able to sit down for at least a week by the time his father got through with him.

Nope. He wasn't giving up. He wasn't done yet. He wasn't going to be drug home like an errant child. One part of his mind supplied that that was pretty much exactly what he was, but he suppressed that thought quickly. Another traitorous thought provided that it would be pretty nice to see his brothers again, eat real meals, and sleep in a real bed again. And not worry about money (which was going to be a factor soon). As tempting as those thoughts were, Alan also remembered an echo of a conversation . . . the words 'mistake' and 'screw-up' figuring rather prominently. That hardened his resolve pretty quickly. Nope. He was not going to go back home. Especially not drug back by Parker and Lady Penelope. But how . . .

A flurry of voices broke into his revive. Park and Lady P. Penny's voice: "What! Where? Have you called Jeff?" Parker's voice answering. Then clear as a bell, the locks clicking open.

Alan didn't even stop to think – he grabbed his backpack and dove for the traffic side door as the opposite door near the curb began to open. Alan tumbled out into the oncoming traffic, very nearly missing his footing. Somehow he kept his feet, and darted through the four lanes of thick traffic, dodging cars and ignoring blaring horns. He could hear Penny's horrified "Alan!" from behind him. "Alan . . . stop!"

Penny's voice was fading as Alan used every trick he knew to cover his tracks and reach his sanctuary. He didn't stop until he was safely 'home', back in the basement of the library, breathing hard.

TB TB TB TB TB

Scott and John wandered out onto the lanai after hearing what Parker had to say. Scott absently fingered the International Rescue cap that Parker had retrieved from the car.

"You know," John said thoughtfully, "I'm not sure whether I want to kill Alan, or hug the life out of him and lock him somewhere where he can't escape once we get him home again."

"I know what you mean. I mean all the work on those travel reservations . . ." Scott trailed off, a wave of conflicting emotions crossing his mobile face. Admiration, worry, frustration, irritation – all within a matter of moments.

John grinned. "Yep, exactly."

Scott sighed. "But then I remember that basically, it's all my fault, and Alan's just a confused, upset kid trying to prove a point – to himself as much as anyone else."

"You did have help," John pointed out, "from two of our other brothers, both of whom also knew better."

Scott shrugged, indicating 'point taken'. "Parker said he looked okay, but his reaction . . ." He trailed off.

"He was afraid," John summed up.

"Exactly." Scott nodded. "That bothers me a lot."

"It's bothering Dad too. But, I mean, you can see Alan's point. He's definitely pulled out all the stops with this one." John shrugged.

"Oh yeah," Scott agreed wholeheartedly. "Alan has never done anything halfway, that's for sure." He fingered the IR cap again, then feeling a grin pull on his mouth, held it up to catch John's attention. "And who'd have thought he had such a wickedly ironic sense of humor?"

John laughed outright. "Oh yeah. Like I said before, I do believe we've underestimated our baby brother. But then again, I'd say he's probably underestimated you as well," he finished, with a twinkle in his eye that this older brother knew meant trouble.

"If you're going to bring up that computer lab again," Scott warned, "don't bother!"

"No actually, I was going to remind you that before you jump all over Alan for selling his computer viruses and programs, I just think it only fair that you remember you used to sell your math homework, papers and test answers. Made a small fortune as well, as I recall."

At the sight of Scott's jaw dropping open, John continued, laughing. "And I don't believe that Dad has ever been made aware of that, either . . ."

Putting the IR cap on his head, Scott slung an arm over John's shoulder and steered him back towards the kitchen. "Ok, exactly what is this going to cost me . . . "

TB TB TB TB TB

Jeff still didn't feel any better. After the incident in New York with Parker and Alan, at least he had the city narrowed down. But New York was a very big place, and Alan could leave at any time. But there were any number of brief, possible sightings that did lead to the prospect that Alan was still there. It felt like they were beginning to close in, but when? Jeff just kept mentally pushing back one hundred and one scenarios where he would finally find his son - in a morgue someplace. Ann Marie had told him she was taking walks during her lunches justto seeif she couldspot him. It was like looking for the proverbial needle in the haystack. But, lightening had hit once with Parker, it could possibly happen again with Ann Marie. Jeff himself had made several trips to the city, and like Ann Marie, found himself walking the streets – just in case.


	8. Chapter Eight Reality Check

Who's In Trouble Now?

By Spense

Chapter Eight – Reality Check

The first mistake Alan made that evening was that he'd been out too late. Everything had been going so smoothly, so according to plan right up until then. Well, almost everything. All except Parker. Alan gave an involuntary shudder. He didn't want 'that look' from Parker ever turned on him again. He could be downright scary.

His second mistake was that he'd gotten, well, cocky, and hadn't done his planning. And it wasn't until he reached the doors of the library at what would have been dusk if it hadn't been drizzling, only to find that this was the one night it closed early. Looking at the chains on the iron grillwork of the door, he knew he wouldn't be getting in that night. But then again, that was one reason he'd chosen it in the first place. It's impregnability. That, and frankly, nobody would ever think to look for him in a library.

Looking up in dismay at the impressive building, Alan knew he was out of his safety zone for the night. 'Humm, guess I should have had a contingency plan,' was his rueful thought. Not very bright. Not bright at all.

Seeing the shadows deepening and bringing the city street to a deep, uniform dingy gray, and noting that the drizzle was growing to actual rain, Alan decided that he'd better be finding shelter for the night. He'd seen a couple of homeless shelters a few blocks up. He'd duck in there. That simple thought was the beginning of a lesson that Jeff Tracy had prayed that none of his sons would ever have to learn, and had been trying desperately to find his youngest before he ended up in this world.

Alan learned that rainy early Summer night what it truly meant to be homeless or a runaway and living on the street. His money was hidden safely in his hideaway in the library and not accessible to him until morning, and he had none of his belongings with him. As the darkness grew, so did the rain, and Alan saw a side of life that he'd never witnessed. Turned away from shelter after shelter for lack of space, Alan was shell shocked. After the warm temperatures, the sudden change in weather drove the New York homeless inside, and Alan was competing for the few beds available in the shelters without knowing the rules of THIS game. Buffeted and rejected from place to place, Alan finally turned to doorways or subway stations. Soaked, he was driven from these possible refuges by inhabitants who had already staked their claims, or security who did their job, keeping the areas clear of the riff raff. This was life at it's most brutal, and Jeff Tracy's son was not prepared for it.

As the night deepened, and the rain continued, the few people on the street grew decidedly less friendly. Alan stared at the hookers and avoided eye contact with the gang members who stalked the streets as their own. After the third time he was accosted (once by a hooker, once by an obviously disturbed man trying to pick a fight, and the third, most shocking to Alan, by an older man who called him 'pretty boy' and invited him to his home for a hot meal and 'some fun'), Alan had panicked. He'd ducked and run from the last one, shaken so badly that he'd dashed into the first alley he could find. He ignored the complaint from the inhabitant of the area who had already staked it out, and ducked into a pile of cardboard stacked in a back corner near a dumpster. Alan pulled the cardboard over him, as much for camouflage as for cover from the rain and curled up on himself, trying to stay warm. Not much helped in that line since he was already completely soaked.

Alan had the unfortunate luck to have chosen an alley well frequented by a rougher part of the city. He received an education that night that would have appalled his father and brothers. It was one thing to know about drug dealing and gang wars. Or to hear that prostitution existed, and how the hookers (of both sexes) were treated both by those who used their services and by those who profited from them. It was quite another to see the trade practiced repeatedly practically in front of your face, or to see a drug deal go bad or to see one person violently stab another over something worth less than 100. Alan was treated to all of this with devastating clarity several times over. He finally closed his eyes to try to stop taking in the carnage of human life on the streets, but the noise intruded, and that was just as bad.

The rain finally turned to drizzle at about midnight, and stopped completely at 2am, but Alan remained huddled. Still as a mouse, and having nearly bitten through his own lower lip from the strain of staying silent. By 3am, the human traffic in the alley was dwindling. By 4am it had stopped altogether. By 5:30am, with the sky lightening with sunrise, and clouds beginning to clear, life in New York was beginning to revert to the normal pattern Alan was familiar with. But still, he didn't move.

"Hey, kid!" A voice shocked him with it's suddenness, and Alan tried to scuttle backwards as the cardboard over him was removed. A filthy, bearded face, framed by coarse gray hair, a dirty, damp knit hat, and a tattered army coat looked down at him. His companion in the alley for the night. "Try for the Mission a couple of blocks over. They always offer showers and good food." Without waiting for a reply, he turned an shuffled off, Alan staring after him, his eyes huge.

Alan didn't budge for a few more hours. He was afraid to.

TB TB TB TB TB

As shaky as Alan was, he did take the man's advice and headed for the mission. By the time he had screwed up his courage to emerge from his sanctuary, it was mid morning. The sky was still overcast, but more and more patches of blue were taking over. The normal morning rush was on. Alan was passed by business men with cell phones, business women darting into buildings, normal life. Alan saw all of it with new eyes. It was like there were two worlds coexisting in one place. He shivered slightly.

Glad to reach the mission, he ducked inside. There were a few people still scattered around the tables, but most of the crowd had left. A black man popped his head out from the kitchen where he was washing dishes. "Shower?" He called.

Alan nodded.

"Okay. Follow me." The tall black man directed Alan towards the showers, eyed his damp clothes quickly and pulled some worn sweats and boxer shorts out of a cabinet for him. "How about I wash your clothes?"

Alan just nodded dumbly and headed for the showers. He stood under the hot water until he finally felt warm again. He wasn't sure if he'd ever feel warm inside again, though. Dressing in the worn sweats, Alan made his was back to the dining room.

"Clothes are in the dryer," the man said cheerfully as he brought Alan a plate of sandwiches and a glass of apple juice and sat down across from him. "We're between meals, but you look like you could use something to eat."

Alan just nodded and began to eat automatically. He couldn't tell how the food tasted, everything had the consistence of dust.

"Runaway?" The question was asked softly, and was non-threatening.

Alan looked up suddenly to meet the black man's kind eyes. He looked at him for a moment, then dropped his gaze.

"Hey, it's okay. I won't even ask your name. But you can talk to me."

Alan looked up at him again, thoughtfully. He seemed almost familiar somehow.

"My name is John. I'm Pastor John actually. This is my Mission."

John. That was why. This man reminded him of his brother, John Tracy. He seemed kind, like John. Alan had always been able to talk to him. Maybe . . .

"Do you have family?"

Alan nodded.

"Are they okay? I mean, somebody you'd maybe want to go back to?" Pastor John was quiet, serene. Just like his brother.

Alan again nodded thoughtfully.

"If you wanted to, I could call them."

"Not after what I've done," Alan found himself saying.

"Oh, I think you'd be surprised," Pastor John smiled. "There isn't much parents won't forgive."

"Father. It's just my father. My Mother's dead." Alan almost shut down at that. That was the root of the whole problem, wasn't it? He thought for awhile. "I don't know. He's going to be pretty mad," he continued thoughtfully.

Pastor John answered, sounding more like his brother John every minute. "I think you're father would just be glad to see you. You'd be surprised how many kids I reunite with their families. Most are just thankful to have their kids back."

Alan had to admit that sounded plausible. He knew his father loved him, even though he got exasperated with him. But still, most fathers weren't Jefferson Tracy, famous astronaut, founder and head of Tracy Enterprises, and head of International Rescue. That put things into a whole new league. And again, most kids probably hadn't managed to hijack a dean's computer, commit credit card fraud and con a bunch of money out of their father's assistant, just to name a few of the more recent infractions. Then of course, he'd also almost blown up a school. Nobody'd ever forget that one. Most kids probably hadn't killed their own mother just by being born either, to their brother's disgust. They probably weren't the youngest of FIVE either.

Alan shook his head decisively. "No. Not now." He finished and stood up.

Pastor John got up as well. "Hang on." He disappeared for a moment and came back with a plastic bag. "Your clothes. Nice and clean."

Alan could smell the fabric softener. That nearly did him in more than anything else had that day. It smelled so – normal.

"I've also put some more sandwiches in as well. Keep the sweats. You ever need an somebody to talk to, come see me. I put my card in as well. Ok?"

Alan nodded.

"Ok then. See you soon." He smiled again, reminding Alan strongly once more of his second oldest brother, and disappeared back to the kitchen.

Alan headed back to the library. And safety. No sightseeing today.

TB TB TB TB TB

Jefferson Tracy stepped into the small, nondescript mission in the middle of the evening meal rush the next day. A black man looked up at him and asked inquiringly, "Mr. Tracy?"

Jeff nodded, and the man smiled. If you'll wait a few moments, I'll be right with you. My office is in there. Make yourself at home."

Jeff made his way into the tiny office next to the kitchen and sat down. The black man joined him in a few minutes. "Sorry about that. They have it all under control now. I'm Pastor John, I spoke to you on the phone."

"I understand you may have spoken with my son," Jeff said as he shook the proffered hand.

"Yes, I believe so. I kept thinking he looked familiar but I couldn't place him. Then, I was cleaning up some of papers left here and I saw his face. I believe it could be him. After seeing the pictures and video the police brought around after I called them, I can say that yes, it was your son with a high degree of certainty, but not proof positive. He didn't give a name however, and I don't ask."

"I understand. How . . . How was he?" Jeff was almost afraid to ask. He'd spoken with the police after they'd interviewed Pastor John, and he had all the information, but Jeff had wanted to talk to this man himself. This man had spoken to his son, and he was the closest link he'd had to his son in nearly two months. Just sitting in the same room with him made him feel closer to Alan.

Pastor John paused to think a moment before he spoke. "He was scared. I don't think 'terrified' would be too strong of a word to use to describe his state of mind. And he looked to be in a state of shock. I don't know where he's been previously, but I think he was on the streets the night before he came in here. This is not a good neighborhood, in fact it's one of the worst. You name it, it happens right in these few blocks. He looked like he'd been places he didn't want to think about."

Jeff paled. "Was he hurt? Was he . . .?" He couldn't go on.

"I'm sorry Mr. Tracy, I wish I could tell you more. I don't really know. In the short time he was here, all I could see was that his lower lip was bruised. But I can tell you this," he continued, "he's very close to coming home. And if he wants to, he knows he can come to me to act as intermediary."

"Thank you," Jeff breathed. This man's serenity was soothing.

"Also, for what it's worth, he thinks he's done things that you can't forgive him for."

"Never," Jeff said forcefully. "Not ever."

The man across from him smiled. "That's what I told your son."

TB TB TB TB TB

Scott hit the disconnect button on the vidphone, his face stone, after the brothers had all finished hearing from their father about the latest update.

Gordon, from his video link on TB 5 broke the loud silence, sounding very shaken. In a small voice he asked rhetorically, "Do you think it really was Alan?"

Nobody answered. How could they?

"DAMM!" Scott snarled, and levered himself out of the chair in an explosion of movement so strong that the chair rolled halfway across the room behind him. His momentum took him as far as the window, where he stood, arms crossed and tension filled. He looked out on a view full of peace and beauty, all azure water, white sand and lush vegetation. The comparison could not have been stronger to what his baby brother had been experiencing.

John's quiet voice sounded softly from the back of the room, a hard resonance to it, " If Alan's been hurt, so help me, I'll . . . "

"Stand in line, bro," Virgil said in a voice like steel, "Stand in line."

No other voices filled the strained silence after that. There just wasn't anything to say.


	9. Chapter Nine Unraveling

Who's In Trouble Now?

By Spense

Chapter Nine - Unraveling

They were drawing closer. Realistically, Jeff Tracy knew that. But it was taking so long. The sightings of Alan were more numerous than they had been now that they knew where to look. Since Alan's run-in with Parker, the authorities were able to concentrate on one smaller area. The small army of detectives Jeff had hired were now often just a few days behind Alan, and had pieced together some of his past movements. Jeff knew that it was only a matter of time.

Alan had been sightseeing. Part of Jeff had to smile at that innocent pastime. On another level, his heart was breaking. Up until now, he always assumed his other sons had taken Alan on those jaunts to see the city while he'd been working. It wasn't until the family was going over the reports of Alan's movements, and where he'd been going, that they realized that Alan had never seen the major sights of New York. How could he have denied Alan that? New York was such a part of them, it was their second home.

He thought again of what Pastor John had told him just a few days ago. New York would probably be forever tainted for Alan now. The thought of his son on the streets at night, alone and frightened, tore at Jeff.

Jeff closed his eyes in pain. It had been so long. He just wanted his son back. No matter what shape he was in, or what scars this adventure would leave – mental or physical. He just wanted Alan back.

TB TB TB TB TB

Alan woke up in black darkness. Swimming up out of the nightmare. As the horrifying world of his dream began to dissipate, the reality of his actual world settled in. A small dark corner of a forgotten basement room. Gloomy, cold, and lonely. Not much more inviting than his dream world of the New York street life. Only this was real, and there was no waking from it.

Nobody was there. No Scott coming in to see if he was okay, his ESP always operating where Alan and nightmares were concerned. No kitchen, where it was always inviting with the bright moonlight of the night to chase away demons, and usually at least one brother up and willing to help, even if it was only with gentle teasing. No father coming in to check on him nightly before turning in, making sure he was safe.

He was completely alone. Alone with the nightmares that came regularly now. Alone with the life he had chosen. Alone with the bridges to home burned so thoroughly with his cleverness that there was no turning back, regardless of what Pastor John said.

Alan tucked his knees up under his chin, wrapped his arms tightly around his legs, and ducked his head, and wept as though there were no tomorrow.

TB TB TB TB TB

Alan didn't venture out much after his night on the streets. Over the course of the three days following that period he hunkered down and tried to sort things out. Nothing made sense anymore. His head was pounding by the third day – stress, he figured. That and the fact that he wasn't getting much sleep. Or food for that matter. Too many nightmares.

He just didn't know what to do anymore. What he'd seen on the streets had been horrifying. He just couldn't get it out of his head. It seemed so alien to him. And home sounded so good. He desperately wanted to see his Dad again. But then, he'd remember that he was a mistake, and not really wanted. Tolerated, but not wanted. And all the things he'd done . . . He just didn't know what to do anymore, what to think. He'd just about make a decision, one way or another, then he'd remember something else, and he'd be swayed the other way.

Finally, in desperation, he decided to go see Pastor John. Maybe he could help him decided what to do. Decision made (well, that one at least), Alan emerged and headed for the street, detouring to the library gift shop to replace his sunglasses when the light proved to bright for his pounding head.

Sooner than he could have imagined, he was standing in front of Pastor John's mission. The dim, cool interior beckoned him from the bright sunny street. After a long hesitation where he almost changed his mind, he entered.

"Well, hello!" The pastor's soft voice greeted him. "Back again, I see. What can I do for you?"

Alan opened his mouth to speak, but the afternoon disappeared in a swirl of bright sparks as his vision swam. He felt himself begin to fall, then knew nothing more.

TB TB TB TB TB

His head hurt, his back hurt, and his joints ached. Everything hurt. He just wanted it to stop. The light hurt his eyes. And the noise too. Voices everywhere. Movement, making him nauseous. A cold hand touched his lower back and that was all it took to turn his stomach. Then he was throwing up, explosively, all over everything in front of him. His brothers were going to kill him. He just knew it. They weren't going to like having to clean that up. Then more voices, but nothing making sense.

"Blood work stat . . . "

"Temp 104 . . ."

" . . . I need . . . lumbar puncture . . . spine . . ."

"Listen Alan . . . it's John . . ."

Somebody kept talking to him, telling him they were John, but it wasn't John – it wasn't his brother. He wanted his Dad; kept trying to ask for him, but his voice wouldn't work. He was hot, and that made him think he was probably sick. But the man who said he was John kept talking, frustrating Alan, because he wasn't John. This was another bad dream, he was sure, but he wasn't waking up. And Scott wasn't around – Scott who always woke him up from nightmares. His world was upside down and he didn't know why.

But then he was there. "Shhh, Allie. You're okay, shhh, it's okay." Alan reached out blindly. His hand was caught in the firm grasp he was looking for. The one that, besides his father, had always meant safety to Alan. He felt a cover draped over him. 'Too hot' was his random thought, but as he tried weakly to get it off again, a familiar hand began stroking his shoulder and back soothingly. "Easy Allie. Leave it alone. Quiet now. Just go to sleep." Alan sighed slightly as the well-known voice eased his frustration. "That's it, that's it . . ." And Alan drifted off.

TB TB TB TB TB

Scott Tracy skidded into his brother's hospital room at a run, actually picking up his pace as the familiar sounds of his younger brother's sobs grew more distinct. Years of listening for younger brothers had honed his ability to recognize any one of his sibling's voices from the quietest sound, and right now, Alan sounded awful. He entered just in time to see a nurse finishing up an injection with the biggest needle Scott had ever seen. 'That had to have hurt . . .' His thoughts were answered by an agonized moan from the heap on the bed.

A black man was sitting next to Alan, trying to calm him, but his little brother was having none of it. It didn't take more than a quick look to see that Alan's fever was very high, and that he was in no way present in the room, rather off somewhere in a world of his own. Scott had had years of experience dealing with his strong minded little brother, and knew just how to handle him. The man with him, who must be Pastor John, Scott surmised, was way out of his depth with Alan. It would have been almost amusing had Alan not been so ill.

His youngest brother, whom he hadn't seen nor heard from over two months because of his stupid mistake lay sobbing in the bed, locked in some nightmare. He looked terrible; flushed with fever and pain, eyes clenched shut against even the pale light of the very dim room. His heart constricted. He didn't know if Alan even wanted him around. He certainly couldn't be blamed if he didn't after the conversation he'd heard. But they would deal with it later. Right now, they just had to get him well.

Scott spared a quick smile for the man who stood up to give him room, then spoke quietly to Alan, grabbing a chair behind him without looking and sitting down. He was so focused, he didn't even see the man leave the room.

"Shhh, Allie," he murmured, reverting back to the pet name they hadn't used in years. "You're okay, shhh, it's okay." Scott sighed in relief as Alan's hand reached out blindly to him. He caught Alan's flailing hand in his, and with the other hand, pulled the tangled sheet up from the foot of the bed where it had gravitated from the combined efforts of both Alan and the nurse. He finished straightening the light cover, then reached up and began to stroke his little brother's shoulder and back soothingly as Alan began to move restlessly, frowning, trying to get the sheet back off. "Easy Allie. Leave it alone. Quiet now. Just go to sleep That's it, that's it . . ." Scott again smiled slightly as his little brother slowly quieted, then gradually faded off to sleep, eased by his voice. But the grip Alan had on his hand didn't lessen one bit.

TB TB TB TB TB

Scott was still sitting like that when Jeff Tracy arrived. Having been delayed at the desk for some paperwork questions, Scott had gone on ahead. He could hear the voices of his father and Pastor John for a moment, then his father entered the room. "How is he?" Jeff asked breathlessly, his eyes lingering on Alan's flushed face.

Scott laughed, mostly in relief at having Alan there in front of him. "I don't know Dad, I haven't talked to anyone. I came straight here. You tell me!"

Jeff relaxed and gave a short laugh. "Good point," he said as he pulled up a chair near the head of the bed, when it became apparent that Scott wasn't going to give his up. Leaning over, he stroked Alan's feverish forehead gently.

The call had come in to the island via Tracy Enterprises in New York. Ann Marie had been breathless. "Jeff, Pastor John from the mission called – Alan's in the hospital. You have to get here NOW!" That had been all it had taken to spin them into action. John and Virgil, after arguing fruitlessly about coming with them, had finally gone to get Gordon, so that there were at least three of them on the island in case of a rescue call. TB 5 would be on automatic for awhile. There was nothing else to be done. Scott and Jeff had headed out to New York as soon as possible.

Information on Alan was gained via cell phone as Jeff contacted the hospital. Jeff had confirmed from pictures that it was Alan. Alan was very, very sick. Meningitis was the diagnosis, confirmed just a few hours earlier. Jeff had done the authorization for treatment via computer while Scott broke speed records getting to New York.

Now they were here. But Alan wasn't with them mentally. Jeff and Scott took turns sitting with him 24 hours a day. When one was sitting holding his hand and keeping him quiet (Alan clung to them like he was never letting go), the other was trying to sleep, or was keeping up with contacts on Tracy Island. John, Virgil and Gordon, as well as the other Island inhabitants and lady P, close as family, wanted updates hourly, it seemed.

By day three, Alan appeared to have stabilized and was slowly improving. His fever was dropping and he was finally sleeping quietly. Jeff stood up and stretched and walked to the window, stifling a yawn.

"Dad . . .?" A drowsy voice spoke up from the chair in the corner of the room.

Jeff turned to his oldest son with a smile. "Everything's okay, Scott. He's better this morning."

Scott got up and joined his father at the window, after a quick look at Alan. "That's good news." He stretched his back out, listening to the slight pops. "You okay?" he asked his father briefly, after a slight pause to study his parent.

Jeff folded his arms, and nodded a slight affirmative. "As well as I can be after listening to Alan for three days."

Scott winced. He knew what his father meant. Everything Alan had been thinking and experiencing had crossed his lips while he was delirious. The two of them had gotten quite an earful, and it had been hard to take. "Dad, I'm really sorry . . ."

Jeff broke off his son's apology. He'd heard that same line many times from three of his sons over the last two months. He'd forgiven them long ago. "I know, Scott. I really do know," he said with a gentle smile towards his uncomfortable eldest son. "Alan can be enough to tempt the patience of saints." Jeff grinned suddenly. "But the rest of you are just as bad." Scott laughed, several incidents proving this statement coming instantly to mind, the last few months notwithstanding.

Jeff continued, "Now we just have to convince Alan." He glanced back over his shoulder at his sleeping son. "I think it's time to get the ball rolling on going home. I'll feel a lot better when we have Alan back on the island, and a whole ocean keeping him in one place while we sort this out."

Scott laughed at the wry comment, but in no way disagreed.


	10. Chapter 10 Endgame

Who's In Trouble Now?

By Spense

Chapter Ten - Endgame

Alan's memories were very confused. He felt like he was living in a continuous nightmare. He was alone, and there was nobody anywhere. He was in New York, and it was completely deserted. Or he was running from people who wanted to harm him, and he couldn't escape. Or else he was locked in a dark basement room. He would call for his father in a panic, forgetting that he wouldn't be there, that nobody wanted him.

But then his father would answer, speaking softly to him, assuring him that he was safe, he was fine, and that he wasn't alone. Alan would cling to him, or grip his hand, feeling the strong grasp and would know he was safe. Or sometimes it was Scott who answered, providing a firm bulwark against the nightmares, as always.

At other times, Alan thought he heard Virgil, Gordon, or even John's voice, talking to him, soothing him, urging him to sleep. He even thought he recognized the sounds of the island around him. But then he would remember that he was in a room in the basement of a library, and it wasn't possible that he could be hearing these things. He was imaging his family being there. But again, one familiar voice or another would tell him that everything was alright, and he was safe, and to just go to sleep. And he would do as he was told, surrendering gratefully into darkness, only to begin the cycle once again.

TB TB TB TB TB

One more time Alan swam up out of the darkness of a nightmare with a strangled gasp, the dream still haunting him as he breathed heavily into the black night. A hand touched his shoulder gently, startling him.

"Easy Alan, shhhh, it's okay. It's just a dream," John's voice said softly, turning the darkness of the night from cold and lonely to warm and cozy. "Easy now . . ."

Alan lay back bonelessly with a sigh, suddenly realizing he was on a real mattress and had a nice comfortable pillow. 'What . . .?' He shook his head to clear it, then croaked, "John . . . ?" in a voice that didn't sound like his.

There was a startled moment of silence, then John's voice again out of the dark. Alan could practically hear the grin in it. "Well, well, well – look who's finally gracing us with his presence! Hang on, I'm going to turn on a light."

Alan shut his eyes in anticipation, then squinted them open, carefully guarding against the dim light. The faint glow threw the familiar sight of the Tracy Island Infirmary into deep shadow. And with it was the John's smiling face.

"Welcome back," his brother said, grinning at him.

Alan looked around, puzzled, then back warily at John. He opened his mouth to speak, failed, cleared his throat and tried again while John waited patiently. His older brother was comfortably ensconced in blankets and curled up in a large arm chair, pulled close within reach of Alan's bed, where he had apparently been spending the night.

"How did I . . ." Alan began, then broke off with a cough. "When . . ." Alan finally just gave up. Obviously they had found him, but when, or how, he didn't have a clue. He didn't remember anything. He did remember having a headache, and going to see Pastor John, but anything else after that was a real mess.

John took pity on him and leaned forward, brushing Alan's hair out of his eyes. "Yes, you're at home. The pastor at the mission called the number Dad had left with him after you collapsed," he said, a permanent smile seemingly affixed to his face. "You sure do know how to make an entrance." He shook his head. "Dad and Scott broke speed records getting to you. You've been really sick. As soon as you were stable, they brought you home. That's the short version."

Alan assimilated all of this. It still made no sense to him. He didn't remember a thing about what John was telling him. Besides, why would they be worried about the family screw-up? It was then that he noticed that John's expression was changing from delight to stern. 'Uh-oh . . . '

"Why the hell didn't you call, Alan? At least me? I wasn't involved. Didn't you have any idea what we were going through. . . ?" John broke off as he saw Alan shrinking back against the pillows at his words.

"Oh Allie, I'm sorry. It's just, well, we've been frantic. Dad's been beside himself." He reached out to gently rub Alan's shoulder. "God, I've missed you."

"Have you really?" Alan asked in a small voice, exhaustion and illness destroying all of his defenses. He just had nothing left to dissemble and protect himself with.

John closed his eyes in pain for a moment. "I can't believe you even have to ask that. Of COURSE we've missed you. I swear Dad's lost 25 pounds. Scott's not much better." Blue eyes met blue eyes, and Alan could see the truth behind the pain.

"But I heard . . ." he began, but broke off. He didn't even want to put it into words.

John reached out again. "I know what you heard. And it wasn't true. I know three brothers who are just itching to talk to you and explain. And above all, apologize." He looked intensely at Alan. "I promise."

Alan thought about this for a moment. It was almost more than he could comprehend right now. But there was one more thing he needed to know. Had to know. "What about Dad?" he asked quietly. "How mad is he?"

John laughed mirthlessly. "Mad? Are you kidding? At you? No way. He's been frantically looking for you for two months. He's had detectives, the police, even the FBI out hunting for you."

Alan's jaw dropped at that.

John snorted. "You idiot. He's been so worried. Mad? Furious at certain brothers of ours, yes, but not at you. As a matter of fact, he's going to be pretty upset that he wasn't here when you woke up. We've had to pry him away from you just to sleep ever since we got you home."

Alan was horrified as his eyes filled with tears. He was too old to cry . . . at least in front of anybody. But he so badly wanted to see his father, and he was so tired. . .

John looked at him seriously. "Do you want me to get him? I'll need to leave you for a moment . . ."

Alan panicked. "NO!" He grabbed at John. He didn't want to be alone – not for one minute – not with the nightmares.

"Shhh, okay, okay, I won't leave you," John's voice slipped back into a soothing rhythm, as he settled Alan back on the pillows and straightening his covers. Alan was grateful, John seemed to understand. "Go to sleep, Allie. I promise, Dad will be here when you wake up again. I won't leave you."

John's quiet voice relaxed Alan further, and he was having a hard time keeping his eyes open. "One of us has been with you all the time – you won't be alone." On that quiet promise, Alan faded out.

TB TB TB TB TB

The next time Alan woke up it was daylight. As he opened his eyes, he saw his father reading, occupying the same chair he'd last seen John in. As he felt Alan's gaze on him, Jeff looked up and met his son's eyes – clear for the first time.

"Alan," he said with a sigh, his voice deep and rich, resonant with emotion, as he dropped his magazine and shifted to sit on the edge of Alan's bed. Reaching down, he gathered his unresisting youngest son to him. Wrapping his arms around him, Jeff pulled him to his chest and hugged him hard.

Alan buried his face into his father's shoulder and felt all of his defenses crumble. He let go of the hurt and anguish, and all of the loneliness and began to cry. How could he have ever believed he was unwanted?

Jeff just held him close, rocking him gently as he talked to his son, telling him softly how much he loved him, and how much he had missed him.

TB TB TB TB TB

Alan was exhausted by the time he finally finished sobbing out his emotions of the last two months into his father's shoulder. He was content to just rest against his Dad for awhile.

"Better?" Jeff finally asked softly.

Alan just nodded into Jeff's shirt, then closed his eyes and relaxed bonelessly into his pillows as Jeff carefully let him go. He felt the mattress move as his father got up, but before Alan could panic, Jeff was back, settling on the edge of the bed once again, and began wiping Alan's face with a cool, wet cloth.

"I know you're tired," Jeff said gently once Alan opened his eyes and was looking at him again. "And you need to sleep, but I want you to understand something first. You were not a 'mistake' as you so unfortunately heard. You were, and always have been a very important member of this family. Losing Lucille was very hard, but losing you as well would have been even more devastating. You are such a part of her." Jeff paused for a moment, smiling at his son, who was watching him intently.

"Yes, Lucy and I had planned to stop at four children. But don't ever, EVER think that you weren't as welcome as the others once we knew she was pregnant." Jeff moderated his tone slightly at the wince on Alan's face as his headache was exacerbated. "We would have welcomed any more children who came our way as well. As for your brothers, well, they've been beating themselves up more than you could possibly know. The day you overhead their conversation, they had just come in from spending nearly 10 hours repairing Thunderbird 2. And incidentally, the damage wasn't all from you, it was from Transom and the Hood and Fermat as well. None of you had had any training, and of course damage was going to occur. But your brothers were exhausted and said some things they didn't mean."

Jeff paused, knowing by looking into his son's face that his words were getting through to him. "Not like you haven't ever been guilty of that," he finished with a smile. Alan smiled in return, the tension in him easing. Jeff gently stroked Alan's hair back off his forehead. "That doesn't excuse their behavior, but it does explain what happened. You have no idea how hard they've been looking for you. Scott told me how relieved he was when you recognized his voice and didn't turn away from him." Jeff turned away for a second and cleared his throat, thinking of Scott telling him that. Of the naked relief in Scott's face, feeling like he'd been given another chance.

Alan watched in slight puzzlement. What was that all about? He didn't remember a thing. Jeff turned back and noticed his look with a smile. Instead of explaining, he continued. "Just remember Alan, actions always speak louder and truer than words. Remember all the loving and caring things your brother's have done. You'll see how much they care about you. And I just want one thing from you," he finished.

As Alan looked at him warily, Jeff continued. "I want you to promise me that you'll never run away again. Talk to me, or one of your brothers, or Penny, or SOMEBODY before you do anything like this again." Jeff's voice broke as he locked eyes with his son, willing what he was saying to be understood. "I can't . . . go through something like this ever again." He nodded at Alan. "I want your word."

Alan didn't even have to think. "I promise," he said firmly.

"Thank you," Jeff said quietly. His gaze softened as he looked at his exhausted son. "Now go to sleep."

Alan was out practically before Jeff had finished his sentence. Jeff just sat and watched him for awhile, glad that he was home. That Alan had agreed so readily and willingly to his request was a measure of how deep the scars of the last two months went in his son. Jeff knew that they'd be dealing with the fallout for sometime, but that was fine. Alan was home, and safe, and in one piece. They could fix anything from here – as a family, they'd get through it.


	11. Chapter Eleven Epilogue

Who's In Trouble Now?

By Spense

NOTE: Thank you so much to everybody who reviewed. I appreciate the feedback, and am glad you've enjoyed it.

Epilogue

The laughter coming from the lounge chairs by the pool echoed back through the kitchen and into the hallway.

"You think you're the worst? Come on Alan, Dad's had loads of practice. Why do you think he's so good at handling this sort of thing? My favorite is Scott, " John continued with a grin. "I mean, after all, he's the one who made school-hopping a Tracy tradition. NOTHING tops the first boarding school any of us attended, though. And Scott was the culprit there."

Alan was listening intently and grinning with anticipation. "Scott, huh," he mulled out loud. "Not Gordon? You mean Mr. Perfect himself?" He couldn't wait to hear this one.

Virgil grinned back. "You have no idea."

Scott could hear the laughter as he approached the kitchen. Alan was cheering up by the day. He, Virgil and Gordon had spent a great deal of time with their brother, apologizing and working on convincing him that he was a valued member of the family, in addition to trying to get him through the aftermath of his time in New York. They may have overdone it a little. Alan was starting to get somewhat resistive at what he was calling 'being smothered'. Scott had to admit that they may have been somewhat overprotective.

He smiled and quickened his pace to join them. Things were definitely sounding more normal these days. As crossed the kitchen to join the small group on the patio, he could heard John's voice, full of laughter saying, ". . . the wiring was fried, and the smoke damage in the computer room took forever to clean out. They had to close the building for a month."

"Hi Scott!" Alan cheerfully greeted his oldest brother with a knowing grin.

John and Virgil turned to him with identical smirks.

"Oh, SHIT!" Scott stopped cold as he realized exactly what John had been telling Alan, then turned on his heel, and left the room the way he had come in.

His exit was followed with the voice of his youngest brother, taunting 'Language, Scott!" and another burst of laughter from his other brothers, at his expense.


End file.
